Luck Never Gives
by dacen.kota
Summary: It Only Lends.  The defeat of Ultimecia was supposed to save the world.  Instead it sent the world to hell.  Long simmering hatreds burst to the surface and political factions vied for control of crumbling countries.  But that was only the beginning...
1. It Begins

_Luck Never Gives;_

_It Only Lends_

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_Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VIII is not mine. _

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_P._

_Luck does not favour hesitation - Roman Words of Wisdom_

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_Time: 5 years ATE (After The End)_

The night air was cool against her skin, growing colder and biting deeper into her reserves with every passing moment. Flakes of gravel shot up from beneath the tires of the motorcycle, stinging the exposed parts of her body. Cool eyes, deep pools in the midnight light, stared straight ahead straining in that half light to see the small, treacherous changes in terrain that could seal her fate. Clouds drifted slowly over the moon, wrapping it in their arms like a lover, plunging the land below in darkness. A curse escaped her lips, soundless as the wind stole it away almost before it left her lips. Trusting to blind instinct, her eyes squinted against the darkness, searching for the last scraps of light to guide her way. Unconsciously calling on _Shiva_ to enhance her sight.

Loose ground gave way beneath the tires, pulling at her, threatening to end her flight right then and there. Fighting to hold back a helpless scream, she gunned it, tires screaming for purchase on the soft ground. The loud whine of the engine and the hopeless sound of tires spinning in the air embraced her. For a split second fear washed over her, as she realised with clarity that it was over, this life was done. Then the moment passed and she was safely on the trail once more, her heart pounding, blood screaming in her ears.

_BANG!_

A sharp crack sounded in the background, breaking the silence of the night. To her left birds screeched a raucous call and took to the sky, black wings silhouetted in the moonlight. Her hand jerked on the handle bar, the bike immediately veering towards the left, it's tire sucked into soft, muddy earth, the remains of yesterday's puddle. Her eyes closed, desperation crossing her features, then they shot open, her eyes startling blue in the night. Determination lighting them from within. In a glance she took in her surroundings, her fears washing away, her senses sharpening, uncluttered by the mind as she reached that _place_. That place that heroes come to, that place that changes the tide of battle.

Suddenly the air around her had startling clarity, the calm before the storm. That perfect moment before the magic strikes you. Blue eyes narrowed in anger, and with skill born not only of innate talent but immense dedication, a blue-green light sprung up around her just as she was enveloped in a ball of lightning. Green light, that luminescent colour of magic, flared around her meeting and holding against the lightning. Still pain washed over her sense, her nerves alight with electricity, the weight of the very air around her causing tears to stand in her eyes. Her teeth gritted against the pain, muted as it was compared to what it would have been if she had not successfully cast Shell.

Even as she fought to push the pain from her mind and from her dancing limbs, bullets tore into the air around her as a incandescent blue light flared in spots, like will o the wisps, deflecting them from a mortal trajectory. Even so, her concentration wavered for a moment under the sheer pressure of the assault and hot pain flared in her arm and the pungent scent of blood filled the air. A sharp cry escaped her and the bike swerved dangerously, even as she let go of her control on this moment in time.

Her eyes closed, trusting her instincts get her over the next bit of trail, keep her safe from attack, she searched deep within herself for that part of her that was not her. She found it, nestled in memories of Trabia, and... winter at the orphanage. Clearing her mind of emotion she drew it towards herself, wrapping her awareness in that delicious feeling of cold. Like the first breath of life on a cold winter morning. Icy energy, cold as the frozen wastes of Trabia, raced through her igniting her blood, sharpening her senses.

_Snap!_

With a jerk she was aware of her surroundings again. Eyes narrowed in concentration, the engine revved hot, the countryside blurring to an indistinct grey. Even in the light of day this would be suicide, here in the bitter darkness of night it was her last chance. She had to escape. Her life could not end here, on the cold plains surrounding Deling City. Her bloody thrummed with the steel of cold ice, and with that ice ran strength quickening her reflexes, sharpening them beyond the mortal kin. With that quickening of senses that accompanied the stirring of a Guardian Force, came a desperate kind of bravery. One that made her consider the craziest things, and beyond that, one that made her believe they could work. A defiant smirk curved her lip upwards as she came to the lip of the hill.

Below it and approaching at an alarming rate was a rope and wood plank bridge. She didn't slow her speed, she needed every fraction of second she could gain, she needed more time between her and her pursuers. Everything depended on it. She descended the hill at breakneck speed, her preternatural reflexes saving her from disaster time and time again. Before she had time to think, the rope bridge was ahead of her. This was it, the moment that could break her.

Her speed did not slow, it increased and with a wild squeal of wheels she left the ground and burned over the bridge somehow managing to keep her seat as the bridge swayed erratically underneath her. As soon as the tires hit solid ground on the other side of the dark chasm, the bike spun alarmingly collapsing onto the ground and sliding away leaving flecks of navy paint in its wake. It's rider jumped, spun in the air somehow managing to land on her feet with a distinctly feline grace. Breathing hard, she leapt to the wooden post and with a boot knife began hacking at the thick rope, desperation and icy strength fuelling her. Moments later she began work on it's pair, a new sound broke through the night, the high whine of engines. Growing ever louder, coming ever closer. Blocking out the noise, she sawed harder on the rope. Icy satisfaction filling her as it dropped away into the darkness.

She straightened after returning the knife to her boot, as the roar of engines drew nearer and twin lights crested the hill. She drew in deep breaths, a grimly triumphant smile lighting her features as the yellow glow of headlights drew closer. As her silhouette was outlined against the night by those lights, she coolly drew her standard SeeD issue semi-automatic and fired two shots. The lights went out, and as they did two voices cried out in terror as they felt the ground disappear beneath them and the beginning of a desperate fall. Their screams ended abruptly.

With a curt nod of satisfaction, she retrieved her bike and sped down the gravel path lit by dim moonlight. She had won, there was still hope. She just had to reach him. A hysterical laugh escaped her as she realised just who it was that they were going to have to rely on, to save them all. The world had gone to hell, and _Seifer Almasy_ might just be the one to save them all.

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_End P._

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Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this. Please review!


	2. Flight

_Luck Never Gives;_

_It Only Lends_

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Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VIII is not mine.

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C.1

_Our strength grows out of our weaknesses - Ralph Waldo Emerson _

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_Time: Fall Equinox; 5 years ATE_

Clear amber liquid frothed and formed a foamy head taunting the rim of the glass but never daring to overflow. Eyes hard as a sharp cut gem, and burning with an inner fire focused sharply on the glass, watching condensation form on it and run towards the counter. A large hand closed about the glass and emptied the contents in one long swallow, slamming it down on the counter as he forced the noises of the tavern to the background. These small villages, more often than not on the edge of the frontier, bred a loud, but ignorant population. They offered seasonal work, and a good place to hide, if you were capable, no questions were asked. Labour was scarce. And he'd learned that everyone in these frontier towns had something to hide. He'd been here before, the village smelled, and he knew that no matter how clear and pure the amber of the beer was, it still tasted of fish. He didn't care, fishy or not, it still helped to push back the world. Even if it did burn going down, and tasted of rotted fish coming back up.

The tavern was dank, it stank of urine, vomit, old straw and other less than savoury smells. They clung to your nostrils, invaded your mouth and left a foul taste in its wake. A foul taste that no amount of fishy beer could take away. The patrons of the tavern, were as ugly as it was, dressed in worn, unkempt clothes and smelling as foul as the floor. The big man was no better. He hadn't bathed yet, since his ship docked a few hours ago. He had spent the last few months at sea, up to the elbows in guts and he still smelt marginally better than those that frequented this place. His lips curled in disgust, scum frequented this place, tavern brawls and death were not uncommon. And him, was he above it?

"Did you hear what happened-?"

The bartender placed another beer in front of him and he downed this one in a rush, blocking out whatever was being said about the outside world. It wasn't his concern. Survival was. He caught the bartender's eye and ordered something hard. All night he had heard it, snippets and bits of information brutally truncated by his sense of survival whispering of catastrophic events, great doings. If he listened, he might hear the _Siren's Call_ and think the world needed a broken Knight to help hold it together. His lips twisted in a bitter smile. She was gone, but his heart still whispered about being a knight. A wry thought crossed his mind, and one on the right side.

Fate is oft times of a humorous turn, and the irony of the moment would be lost on him. But if he had actually listened to the talk around him, he could have saved himself a world of trouble. And a great deal of pain. His head was bent, raising a shot glass to his lips when the blow descended. His teeth viciously sliced through his lip, blood spraying on the counter as his head flew forward. Silence pervaded the atmosphere, conversations dying mid sentence as all attention became riveted on the two, one drunk swaying on his feet, the broken end of a beer bottle still gripped with white knuckles. The blond man still sat, hunched over the bar on his stool, a dangerous stillness settling about him. His attacker gulped, his courage sticking in his craw as it deserted him.

"I... know you! This-this is your... fault." He muttered drunkenly, breaking the silence.

The big man shrugged, a lazy smirk dancing on his lips.

And the shit hit the fan. In a fluid motion, with the grace of a born predator, the man surged to his feet. The situation turned in an instant as a powerful fist connected with the man's jaw sending him flying into a table, sending tankards flying to the floor. Shattered glass flew over the patrons. He struggled to rise for a moment before falling back, eyes rolling back into his head. The man turned, grabbed his final shot to his lips and throwing it back ignoring the crowd behind him. Two men, friends of his attacker, crept forward chairs in hand. He snorted, a harsh, derisive sound a smirk colouring his lips. That was not going to work.

Tucking his head down, he took the brunt of the weight of one of the chairs on his shoulder, pain crashing through him even as the chair splintered and cracked, falling in pieces to the ground around him. It would have been a shock if this place had chairs of good craftsmanship. His hands closed firmly about the legs of the other and pushed hard, shoving the other man back. With a quick jerking motion he pulled the chair forward once more, breaking the other man's grip before breaking the chair over his head. The drunk was not so lucky, the craftsmanship of his chair was better. A chair leg skewered him through the shoulder, leaving him writhing on the ground in pain. The big man twisted the chair cruelly, before stepping over him and facing the rest of the tavern.

That dry stillness settled over them, brittle like autumn leaves, waiting only for a spark to ignite. And it came. The second man had been forgotten, now he charged forward, catching the blond man off guard, sending them both flying through the air. A table broke their fall, it's legs shuddering under it as the combined weight of the two men tested its strength. It was too much, the legs buckled and failed. As it crashed to the ground, the kerosene lamp that had alighted it was sent flying and hit the straw covered floor hard, exploding in a showering of glass and liquid, fire creeping in its trail.

Dazed, the blond man shook his head to clear it, staring all the while in fascination as fire hungrily travelled over the straw covered floor. Time to vacate the premises. A strong left hit him and his senses reeled from the blow. Around him the fire flared in response. He pulled the man close, butting him as he did. Eyes rolled back in his opponents head, the great bloody hulk of a man had the nerve to collapse unconscious on top of him. The flames licked hungrily, ever closer, and ever more out of control.

Shoving the man aside, the big man got up. Pulling a wad of gil from his pocket, he threw it at the bartender who was frantically trying to save his livelihood as flames crept ever closer to the moonshine. Running a hand through bright blond locks, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the counter and took a slug, enjoying the fiery burning taste as it slid down his throat . Then he bent and picked up his pack and without a backward glance, nor even any concern for the chaos around him he left.

Time to run.

He stepped out into the cool salty air of the coastal village. Around him surged the former patrons of the bar trying to escape before the inevitable. The dangerous, exciting smell of fire permeated the air. He started to make his way down the worn steps, his pace was measured. He was in no hurry to start running again.

_BANG!_

Behind him the fire found the moonshine and erupted in a glutinous roar. Shards of glass flew through the air and he braced himself for pain. But it never came, instead a soft blue light flared up around him protecting him from the shards. A sick feeling rose in his stomach, even as the powerful whine of a motorcycle filled the air. Clumps of turf sprayed him, the high sound of the engine dying down as he turned away from the building. So this was it. Resignation filled him.

"Get on!"

Something hard slammed against his chest and he barely had time to catch it before it fell to the ground. It was a helmet. The big man raised an eyebrow and stared at the man on the motorcycle. Only it wasn't a man. Big blue eyes and wisps of strawberry blond hair framed what he could see of the face. Now that face didn't belong here...

"Quistis?" His breath caught in his throat, and the name came out with a broken catch and he cringed to think that it was him that said it.

"Get on."

It was a command, and he did not refuse. Slipping the helmet over his head, he swung a leg over the back of the bike and grabbed her waist. He purposely pulled her too close for her comfort. It felt good to have a soft, feminine body in his arms. The end of her whip jabbed his leg. Even if it was all an illusion.

"Hold on tight." Her voice bit with ice, and underneath that a subtle current of fiery anger. He was making her uncomfortable. He smirked, some things _never_ changed.

It cut out suddenly. The roar of the engine, dying without warning, suppressing a groan she coasted it to a stop. Brusquely she ordered her companion off the bike before getting off herself. The kickstand gave way under it as she shouldered her pack. It fell to the ground, like a soldier after a long, desperate battle. It's smart navy paint, chipped, scratched and scuffed to a faded bluish grey. Dents marred the smart lines of the bike, it no longer looked sinuous, feline or fast. It looked like she felt. Old, having seen to many battles in it's time, and not lucky enough to get off without scars.

"South. The pass we want is south." There was a sharp edge to her voice as she answered his question. Without waiting to see if the big man would follow her, she set off at a brisk pass. She hoped it would discourage questions.

Colbalt eyes scanned the terrain in front of her, the path she had been following on the bike veered sharply to west. It would get her where she wanted to go. But was it the best choice? Unconsciously she had already made the decision, leading them into the forest directly south of them. As the boughs of the trees closed in around them, obscuring them from view, she felt relief sweep through her senses. Her lips curled in disgust. She was reacting like prey, thankful not to be out in the open.

But then... wasn't she prey? Cold logic told her that the two who had been following her would not be the last placed on her trail. There had been many in the previous three months, there would be more. There was a strong desire in the world for this particular mission of SeeD to fail. Strong desire, long reach, deep pockets. That constituted the entirety of what she knew of the enemy. It left her uncomfortable, nerves alive fear, to operate blind like this.

But they had no choice, she had no choice. They needed him.

The wind was cool, and here the trees knew what that meant. As they travelled silently further from the coast, bright oranges and scarlet the colour of the fresh spilled blood broke through the living greens and foretold of winter to come. She placed her feet carefully, avoiding the litter that strewed the forest floor. Behind her, her companion ploughed through it all, uncaring of the loud crunch of spent seeds and nut casings under his boots. Some things never changed, he had always been too arrogant for stealth.

She kept them moving, not at the same brisk speed as they set out as, but at the speed of a seasoned traveller. She knew this pace, this stride, would take them far without exhausting them to the point of uselessness. The road ahead of them was still long.

The sun had dipped towards the horizon when she felt a hand on her arm. The grip was firm, it broke no argument. She stopped and swung her gaze to her companion. To be truthful, she was surprised. There had been no talking during the long afternoon, no complaints, no demands for answers.

"We'll camp here."

A delicate brow arched upwards, amusement flickering briefly over her features before her eyes met his. He had been patient, but that was now at an end. Her tongue flicked over her lips, unconsciously displaying a hint of nerves and she looked away. Around her the trees broke, forming a small clearing surrounded on one side by brightly dressed deciduous trees and on the other stately evergreens stretched skyward, broken only occasionally by a defiant oak, or maple. The break in the forest was caused by a stream, swift and cold, it was clear as crystal and dark shapes darted under the surface.

"Not on this side." Her voice was sharper than she intended it, "The pine over there is large enough to shelter us from the wind, and we can build a fire in the lee of that rock."

Her eyes roamed over the stream, trying to find a shallow stretch, where she could cross without getting too wet. She found one, and as she turned to inform her companion, she was literally struck speechless, and then swept off of her feet.

Seifer stood unapologetically in his boxers in front of her, his coat crumpled into a bundle for his clothes. Her mouth opened, and closed silently, words wanting to spill out, but unable too. He took advantage of her speechlessness to toss her unceremoniously over his shoulder. Pack and all. She felt, more than heard his sharp intake of breath as he stepped into the icy cold stream. Her own breath caught in her throat as she felt him teeter, sharp rocks under his feet. But she didn't fall, he swayed and like a dancer caught his balance and continued on. Within moments she was back on her feet, her thoughts spilling in a thousand directions at this erratic twist in events. He took advantage of her personal chaos.

"I'll find dinner." His voice was rough, the timbre familiar to her ears, but not, "Set up camp while I'm gone."

He disappeared into the forest, following the small river upstream. Her training screamed at her to follow him, not to let him out of her sight now that she had him. But she ignored it, some deeper intuition telling her that he would return. She bit her lower lip, her gaze troubled as she considered her actions. It was not SeeD protocol.

She dropped her pack to the ground, only realising as she did how incredibly sore her shoulders were from the weight. Still she looked around before groaning softly in pain as she rotated her shoulders to ease the kinks. She took a long moment for herself, losing herself in the whisper of the wind through the branches, the crisp coolness to the air soothing her heated face. In the distance a raptor let out a shrill cry. Wearily she bent, pulling a collapsible shovel from her pack and began digging into the soft earth at the base of an errant rock. Telltale sign of the mountains ahead.

Quistis surveyed her efforts in the dwindling light. She had a fire going, warm, nearly smokeless and mostly hidden from view. The large pine next to it, now had it's branches tied together in a haphazard fashion giving them shelter from the wind and cold and it's needles were bunched into a pile beneath it, to make a soft warm bed. SeeD survival training at it's finest. She had not planned for any of this, but had managed quite nicely in spite of it.

Still Seifer had not returned and a sick feeling was beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach. The sun was almost down as she knelt by the stream filling a small pot with water. A twig snapped, and she moved fast in the direction of the sound, hand moving to her whip as she stood at the ready, waiting. Seifer stepped from the shadows, still mostly undressed, two fish dangling from a willow switch.

Still they said nothing to each other, as he handed her the already gutted and scaled fish. Quietly she made dinner, skewering the fish on sticks and placing them over the fire. She left them, watching out of the corner of her eye as Seifer occasionally turned them over. She concentrated her attention on making a broth. She eyed the dried meat critically, searching for mould or signs of insects. She found neither and with a fatalistic shrug, pulled her boot knife and sawed it into smaller pieces which, along with a package of dried vegetables, were added to the boiling water in the pot. That done, she turned her gaze skyward, watching the stars appear. Avoiding Seifer, she needed to time to think.

He had nothing with him, beyond his gunblade and the clothes on his back. She shared her battered dinnerware with him, a humble tin plate, some sort of spork and a dented cup. Still they didn't speak, but the air between them was taking on the tempo of the calm before the storm, waiting for a flash of lightning to erupt into a full fledged downpour.

After they had finished the meal, she put out the fire and sat hunched against the sudden cold, another reminder that winter was on it's way. A dying ember flared briefly as he made his move.

"What do you want with me?"

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_End C. 1_

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Author's Note: The next chapter will answer a few questions! Please review! I hope you like this fic.


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